www.boathouserecords.com
December 11, 2009
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Love Lost, Music as a Girlfriend
I’m not a fighter I’m a lover… Famous last words of the poet laureate, pacifist, and of course the iconic Kinks. But even more important, last words of the the audiophile. Spooning their LPs in the night like long lost lovers. Soothing their emptiness with the easy sounds of Morrissey imports, familiar melodies of the Beach Boys, and the distant echos of The Animal Collective.
We are a group of indecent ladies and gentlemen ripped to shreds by the sound of a pop tune, or the bark of a genre breaking melody, hacking into the deep recesses of a soul effected by the tales of infectious romance and love lost. We will love many things in our lives but will only be in love with music.
Have you ever been left by a band? Misdirected into thinking that your emotions are directly feeding the lifeline which is the lyrical genius of your current steady record? Well be cautions young lovers they will all leave you one day.
One morning you will arise from a night of neurotic pop melodies dancing in your subconscious, to a ground breaking release from your favorite artist. It is then that you realize that your musical love affair’s trip to the bodega for American Spirits was not a trip at all. They have left you for a new genre. They have decided to sign to a major label and their sound will be affect for eternity. We are doomed as fans.
Our fate is inevitable. We will be left, and the only thing to console us will be the reissue of Pet Sounds that we bought at Urban Outfitters, (by the way, that should never be repeated, to anyone, under any circumstance, Urban Outfitters that is, not the Pet Sounds.) God Only Knows, repeatedly plays in the background as we grasp for our last breath and micro beer. We dive for our internet connection to find the next release that will accommodate our current but always fleeting new favorite genre, alt- country/indie/experimental/new wave. The realization that there is only one cure that exists, is blessed upon our shoulders in a divine order. This medicine, a re-spin of our heroic album, while scoffing all of the changes the new one has invented. Then in a haze of Dogfish Head and PBR we decide to blog our furious demeanor caused by the greatest disappointment we have been left to experience. Our recent favorite artist has broken up, with us. Depression sets in.
We only dream of being an inspiring artist ourselves. Taking our new anger and love loss, commit it to recycled, organic parchment and compose the epitome of a singer songwriter track. This release will be the definition of an understatement, with hints of Elliott Smith and a dash of Nick Drake. Scratch that, more Smith, less Drake, and a hint of…. of…. something a bit more out of character. Ok perfect. A track that is Elliot Smith, a little Drake, poppy like Sondre Lerche but dark like Owen. Owen post, No Good, for No One, but pre, I Do Perceive. Maybe even throw in a little Matt Skiba, heroine abused, Good Fucking Bye - grit, to spice it up. And alas we have closure.
The reality is that our collection of next to famous artists will rarely carry our emotions through a half decade without drop kicking across the beer covered floor of our favorite venue or salvo decorated studio. Heartbreak is inevitable for us.
My suggestion, is live as loner, a rebel. Recluse yourself, drag no soul into the depths you wish to explore as an aficionado of music culture. Or start a club os same minded self afflicted snobs like yourself. Maybe you already reside by these tenements, because the bitter sweet reality is that, your favorite artists are the sea which carries the waves, and we are just the wreckage of the finest galleons, laid waste to the bosom of the ocean floor.Music is nothing but but a summer girlfriend. A Jersey Shore weekend score. No matter how bad the burn we just keep returning to the fire.
m. alpaugh
